


Support System

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 12:31:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: It's Dana's decision, but Monica wants to at least give her the space to make it.  Season Nine AU.





	Support System

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

Monica makes three calls before she takes the phone off the hook.  She calls Skinner first, and then Doggett, to let them know she’s not coming in today.  She says it’s a personal issue.  She doesn’t particularly like the term, because it always makes her think of an old co-worker who used it as a euphemism for cramps, which makes her wonder if they think she’s calling out for cramps, which makes her think of high school gym class.  But it’s vague enough to both encompass the truth—helping your friends _is_ personal—and not imply anything that’s not her business to share.  She thinks Skinner might guess where she is; there’s a hint of something in his voice when he says, “Okay.  Take care of yourself.”  He doesn’t ask, though, which is just as well.

Her third call is to Dana’s mom.  This one is trickier.  She’s not sure what she should or shouldn’t say, how she can assure Mrs. Scully that she shouldn’t worry if she can’t get through on the phone while also keeping her from worrying about the reason that she’s taking the phone off the hook in the first place.  If Monica tells her that, she will worry.  Quite reasonably.  Monica’s worried, after all.  She manages the call, though, somehow.  “She’s very tired,” she offers, and even if it’s not the whole truth, it is true.  She’s never seen someone so exhausted, and she’s not just thinking about bodily tiredness, although of course the two are connected.  “She needs to get some rest,” she says, and that’s true too, even if it’s far from the only thing Dana needs.  But she hopes it’ll be a start, at least.  She finishes the call.  Leaves the phone on the table, sitting beside its cradle.  Then she picks up William.

“Hey,” she says softly to him.  “We’re going to hang out for a little while, so your mom can get some rest.  That okay?”  He makes some kind of sound, and she wonders if she’s supposed to know what it means.  She’s not exactly a baby person—she likes them fine, but she always feels more comfortable with kids who can actually talk to you.  Less margin for error there.  But she figures she can do a good enough job with William for the rest of the day, while Dana gets at least some of the sleep she needs, with any luck enough to make her take a step back and think and reconsider this idea.

“Are these your blocks?” she asks William, pointing to some that are laid out on the carpet.  “Should we play with them?”  He makes another sound, which she decides means he’d just as soon play with the blocks as not, and she settles him on the carpet, taking a seat beside him.  She stacks a few blocks.  William mostly seems interested in trying to put them into his mouth, but they’re big enough that he can’t swallow them, so there doesn’t seem to be any harm in it.  She doesn’t think Dana would get him blocks that were a choking hazard or had toxic paint on them or anything else that was dangerous to babies, which seems like everything sometimes, if the way her cousins who have kids talk is any indication.  And things like blocks—those are just the mundane things.  Monica can understand why it’s scary, why Dana feels like she’s lost control.  But there’s always so much in life that you can’t control.  You can only try your hardest.  Monica thinks about her cousin Teresa, the way she always fastens her daughters’ bike helmets tightly before they go for a ride.  She thinks about the blocks spread out of the carpet before her, the way they are properly sized and brightly colored.  Blocks chosen by someone who cares.

Of course she knows that Dana cares.  She cares so much that she’s not thinking about herself or her own happiness—she only wants to do what she thinks will be best for William.  Maybe “wants” is the wrong word, because she didn’t get more than a few sentences out before starting to cry; Monica can’t imagine that losing her son will make her anything other than desperately unhappy, and yet she insisted that she had to give him up to keep him safe.  But Monica wonders if he would be any safer elsewhere.  The dangers might be different but still present.  Right now he’s with someone who loves him and cares about him, who carefully selects his blocks and faces down conspiracies that would harm him, who sings him to sleep and crosses the continent to protect him.  Who’s wanted him for so long.

That’s the part that Monica keeps coming back to: how much Dana wanted William.  She doesn’t know the whole story, but she knows enough.  And this is about Dana for her, not some abstract notion of what a mother should or shouldn’t do.  Not every woman is meant to be a mother; it’s not something Monica herself craves.  She had an abortion her sophomore year of college, and she’s never thought of it as a traumatic decision.  She didn’t tell her own mother, didn’t tell the guy; the only person she did tell was her roommate, Crystal, who picked her up afterwards, made her soup, and spent the evening sitting on the couch with her.  That’s the part she remembers best.  She never felt questioned.

Thinking about that, Monica wonders if maybe she shouldn’t be questioning Dana now.  Maybe she should have let her make her own decision, instead of insisting that she get into bed and take something to help her sleep and let Monica take the phone off the hook and watch William for the rest of the day.  Maybe it’s her job to be supportive, not directive. 

But then she’s not sure what it means to be supportive in this context.  The situations aren’t exactly analogous, after all; Dana wants to be a mother, likes being one, even if she feels like she can’t right now.  She keeps thinking about Dana’s tears, and she can’t decide if she’s giving her friend a much-needed opportunity to reconsider or just some additional time to spend with her pain.  William knocks down a stack she’s made with the blocks, babbling as he does so, and she scoops him into her lap and studies his face.  She remembers the sadness she saw on Dana’s face as she looked at him earlier today.  The joy she’s seen there so many other times.  There aren’t any easy decisions.

But she’ll try her best.  If nothing else, she wants Dana to know that she’s here, that she’s her friend.  She doesn’t know how much Dana’s willing to admit it, but she thinks she could really use one.  And if being her friend means letting her do this…Well, she just hopes it won’t come to that.  She knows even as she thinks it that she’s avoiding taking a direct look at the situation, which isn’t exactly productive, but she really doesn’t know what she would or should do.  Fortunately, William gives her a respite from thinking about it, making fussy noises and tugging on her shirt with his small hands.  “Are you hungry?” she asks him.  “Or something?  Something like that?”  He whines again, and she lifts him up and carries him towards the kitchen to look for milk.  This is already tiring.

She keeps him alive and reasonably content for the rest of the morning and afternoon, though, which she’s willing to consider a small victory.  She’s sitting on the couch, holding him as he starts to doze off, when she hears quiet footsteps.  Dana’s making her way into the room; she comes and takes a seat on the couch next to them.  “Hi,” she says, and her face doesn’t show what she’s thinking.

“Hi,” Monica says.  “How’re you feeling?”

A movement of the shoulders that could mean anything at all.  But then she holds out her arms for the baby, and Monica places him there, carefully.

“I…”  Dana’s looking down at William, pressing him close against her.  “I just…”  A shallow breath.  “I don’t…I just miss…but I couldn’t…”  Fragmentary words and pauses.  Nothing to latch onto, nothing that Monica can really answer or solve.

She just puts a hand on Dana’s arm, lightly.  “Take your time,” she says.  “I’m right here.”  Dana lets out another breath, long and slow this time.  She cradles her son without speaking, and Monica doesn’t speak either, just sits there watching. 


End file.
